The Chicken Counter

...Yes, I will hit you with a spatula.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

i wish people would just ask themselves "is this something i would say out loud in life?" sometimes we keep these thoughts private because it's disrespectful to share them. the mind is kind of like hot dogs, nobody REALLY wants to know what's in it. should we forsake civility for complete honesty? would it be couth to address individuals about their flaws as the notion strikes you?

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

sometimes people have bad days.
sometimes people have bad weeks.
it seems that i am having a bad year
and it had started out so well...

seeing as october marks the the month in which this bad year began it's
cycle, i feel that i can safely say that this bad year can't get any
worse--because technically it's over.

this year i have seen histories end, marriages flounder, ambitions wilt, fireworks settle and bureaucracy's impatience. instead of discussing, in detail, the intricacies of any misfortunes, i will provide the following observations, resolutions and platitudes.

so i hear death occurs in threes, well, so do dramatic life changes. i feel that dramatic changes in your life or the lives of those around you are, in their own way, a little death (and by that i don't mean the japanese euphemism for orgasm--wait, is that japanese?). these changes mark the end of one thing and the beginning of another and you can't go back--if someone goes back after making a dramatic change they impose on themselves a sense of failure. i've tried to go back on things in my life. i've ruined them. i don't have a positive example of a personal rehash that has blossomed into anything worthy of a bouquet. i've seen other people go back, stick it out despite the bitterness and the doubt, and i have seen them TRY, but i also have felt the absence of warmth that comes with that effort.

i don't want to go back. i know what it feels like back there. i know the chill i left in my wake, i know the reasons why i left in the first place. this place, for me, is not a physical realm, it is not a relationship or zip code or even an emotional state. it is social serfdom, it is feeling that no matter what you say you cannot please everyone, it is adjusting yourself constantly in an effort to do just that.

yesterday a switch flipped. i am done catering to the ideologies, the linguistic limitations, the bigotries and narrows and the herd mentality.

i'm cutting people off from me. i used to write in this blog as a way for me to give something to myself that others could merely observe. i stopped. now i'm starting again. this is a small gift to myself. this is not for you. this is mine.

if you start to feel sorry for me just tell yourself that i probably think you're an asshole.

i was on a path once. it is hard to reconcile with what the passage of time takes away from you--and i'm not even 30. well, now i'm on a path again. some people don't like my path. i'd like to be super cool and say that i don't care what other people think. i do care what other people think. it is a burden to care so much about other people and their ideas. however, my concern with others has interfered with my life. if the journey is the destination then this place sucks.

in some ways i am very mature--in others i am a fucking child.

and so in an effort, this effort, i am taking back something that i love. saying whatever i want without worry. sometimes this will be cute, sometimes this will be mean, sometimes this will be stream of consciousness, but regardless of it's form. it will be mine.

Monday, February 14, 2011

it will never be your problem--and by "you" i mean you dwellers of hills, you purveyors of peaks, you packers of heights.

you people, you voted for a ballot measure in favor of enforcing a sit/lie law on the streets of san francisco. fuck you.

tonight a couple came into my work. they were obviously homeless. they looked like homelessness. they smelled like homelessness. they asked for a table. i gave it to them. any reason i had for reservation i disregarded--my restaurant does not take reservations.

they sat. i took the order. they ate like kings, they drank wine. i treated them like royalty. deep down i knew they would not pay...and even as he looked me dead in the eyes, i knew. as he asked for butter and extra lemon, i knew. as i offered coffee and he politely declined, i knew. as he requested the check and i ran to calculate, i knew--and as he walked quickly to the door with his silent friend i considered the situation.

he left me a dollar bill and an old loehmanns gift card.

i stood still for a moment. and then i ran. i chased him down the alley. i knew he didn't have money. i yelled to him "HEY" caught up to him quickly and told him "i'm faster than you old man". he stopped.

i asked him why. i had treated him with respect, i had welcomed him to sit when no one else would and he had chosen me to foister the financial burden upon. i asked him for the food back--i took back what i had packed for him in to-go boxes and i apologized for him not being able to pay for it. he gave me his silent friends wallet and told me he would have money on monday. i do not believe him. he made this promise using the same honest eyes with which he had ordered his wine.

i threw his leftovers in the garbage. i am not sure what i feel worse about--the fact that i allowed this to happen--or the fact that it almost seemed i had laid a trap for them. all the while knowing, but refusing to believe it would actually happen.

in the end, i believe i felt worse about it than they did. i hated taking away the food. i hated that when all was said and done i found myself in the possession of his lady friends wallet with all of her important cards and identification bits--her food stamps. most of all i hated that i am poor and i was deceived and betrayed by other poor people--the battle to be fought is not between we lower classes and yet that is where we find it.

so you see, this problem with the homeless--it does not belong to the dwellers of hills, the purveyors of peaks or the packers of heights. it belongs to us, the gutter punks.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

i'm not sure when you died, as you were partially decayed by the time i found you at the bottom of the bowl, but i had had you for three years and was rather attached to your floaty presence.

i sorry i forgot to feed you, but really, for a fish that subsists mainly off his own poop, i'm surprised you lived as long as you did. you will be replaced quickly (for $2.00 at the pet store in chinatown) but your buoyant spirit will circle the toilet bowl of my heart for all eternity.

paul newman is survived by his other fish friends "robert redford" and "manny ramirez"--and although they had never actually met(since they are siamese fighting fish and would likely kill each other)they were the holy trinity of my aquatic pet world. he has passed through life's curtain and now resides with his predecessor "zardoz:the christmas fish" in that mystical sewage pipe under the sea.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

i use facebook. i am a prolific facebooker. i make statements, i post links, i share recipes and i, apparently, pick fights.

i recently had a former acquaintance from college inform me that, based on my disinterest/annoyance with sports fans (i live next to a sports bar and walk out of my doorway through sports puke), i was "an idiot who had lost his respect." apparently a less than enthusiastic approach to football was all it took.

i can tell you three things about this person. 1) he is rather unfortunately and prematurely bald. 2)he was a republican in college. 3) his birthday is four days after mine.

so after he called me an idiot i sent him a nice letter telling him that everything was ok. that i only knew three things about him and that there was no need for name calling.

he has not responded.

so i've been considering this. for all of the social networking i do, all of the poetry i share, all of the news links i pass on, all of the people i introduce, all of the music i point out--nothing lights more of a fire than these random statements i make. i'm tending to piss people off--and it is surprisingly easy.

so far these arguments have all been with men. men who say one snarky thing to me and then block me and run away. it's been frustrating mostly, since i'm not trying to be mean...

7. that's not what you ordered? well it's what you asked for--what you really mean is "i dunt speek IIItalyen"

8. do i have a cocktail menu? do you have ID?

9. you don't see a kids menu? you also, apparently, can't take a hint.

10. you're a twenty-something dining out with twenty or so of your "friends" and you are surprised when i add an 18% service charge. cute. get used to it you cheap fuckers. the world doesn't owe you shit and neither do i.